


Touch And Go

by 999blackflowers



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Bad Touch, Gen, Solo, Touch-Starved, Watersports, noncon, self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/999blackflowers/pseuds/999blackflowers
Summary: Hershel Layton is assaulted in an alleyway walking home one night.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Touch And Go

**Author's Note:**

> A/N from 999blackflowers: I'm hearing there's a coordinated effort to try and push problematics out of the Layton tag here on ao3 by spamming little 100 word ficlets of... non-problematic fics? Eh. Anyway, I'll be uploading some of my archive gradually to combat this. Enjoy!
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> Beatings  
> Rape (obviously)  
> Piss  
> General sads from Hershel

To Hershel, all social events were a masquerade ball. He did not own a mask, rather, he wore it with everything he did. Each action, each move. It was something he’d trained into himself for the past decade. As a teenager, he hadn’t needed to bother. He was now 27. It had been six months since Claire had passed, and he’d had to keep his masquerade up more than ever.

He didn’t drink. He didn’t know why he bothered going to the bar in the corner. A lovely handsome grizzled man had offered to buy him a drink, and he’d merely shook his head. Then he’d been ignored for the rest of the night.

He was moving through an alleyway to his car. He didn’t want to be seen - if he was seen, he could potentially lose his job. He’d only been hired for 6 months, and his position helped him feel as if he’d finally managed to carry out his beloved’s high school dream. 120 months since he’d died.

Too many people had passed.

Hershel pulled both the handkerchiefs from his back pocket. One grey, one black. He used the grey handkerchief in his jacket pocket right next to his journal and his writing implements. He tucked the grey one inside and tapped his over his breast to make sure everything in there was still present. He was about to tuck the black handkerchief into his other pocket to hide it and remove it, he felt a powerful hand on his neck.

He felt himself slammed to the brick wall, his jaw hitting the cold grime. A second hand slammed his lower half against the wall. The hand on his neck moved to his skull, and he felt hot breath on his neck and ear.

_ “You’re a pretty little thing, aintcha?” _

_ Pretty. _

Hershel’s eyes flicked to two other silhouettes in the dark alley. He couldn’t move. He knew what this was. He’d give his wallet and leave just fine. His money was worth more than his life. He hoped. Sometimes he felt like he should be executed in front of a crowd for a $3 entry fee. No one would show up. 

A cricket bat was swung into his calves from one assailant, and he bit his lip. A hot tongue moved over his ear, then bit his ear. Hershel struggled to try and push himself off the wall, when he felt a hand on his belt.

“I’ll give you my wallet.” Hershel whispered. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“We’re not here for your wallet, sir.” A gruff voice came from beside him. He felt a hand on the zipper of his jeans, and honestly, excitement flooded through him. Then disgust. But he was yanked away from the wall and forced to his knees as his first assailant shoved him down.

Hershel raised his eyes to make out long tall hair covered legs, pants around the man’s ankles, and his cock at his eye level. His jaw was yanked open and his head tilted up by the man behind him, and it occurred to him he could fight back. But he didn’t, as the man took his head to thrust hard into his throat.

He immediately gagged and tried to pull off, unable to breathe. He wanted to vomit. His nose was pushed up into the man’s bush, and he smelled horrid. Musty. It quickly stopped as the strong hands grasped both sides of his head to thrust in and out of his poor abused throat. 

_ Out of all the people they could’ve chosen, they chose me. _

Hershel gagged and tried to wrap his tongue around the giant cock invading his poor throat, tasting what may as well have been mold. He felt more hands on his jaw and neck, and the sweet tingle of skin on his own was something he hadn’t felt in so, so long. Even if they were grabbing him to hold him still as they took him. The sides of his vision were fading to black, and he realized he may be passing out. But as he felt lightheaded, his assailant slammed his hips into his head and shot hot cum down his throat, and letting go of him to finally pull off him.

He couldn’t taste it with how far down his throat his cock was. He wished he could taste it. It was over. They wouldn’t touch his skin anymore. Hershel looked up slowly to see the man pulling his jeans back up.

“Now, you won’t go t-”

“Take me again.” Hershel felt tears coming to his eyes. “Please. I want more.”

The voice behind him laughed and yanked him up, slamming him to the wall again by the jaw. He hated this. He  _ hated  _ it. He felt his jeans yanked down and for a moment, he felt special. Out of everyone in the bar they could’ve stalked home and raped, it was him. He was so special.

The hands on his hips suddenly felt so good. Nicer than anything he’d ever felt. He was being held. So rough, so terrible. He let himself lean back into his assailant's arms for a moment, until he had his jacket torn from his arms and his shirt lifted off his head. Hershel suddenly noticed his hat was now laying on on the filthy ground.

_ No. _

And he was completely naked in a public space, bent over. His assailants were in thick clothing, jackets and all. He felt the cold wind on his skin and chest and back and his soft flaccid cock. He stared down at his hat on the filthy wet pavement, until he felt warm liquid streaming onto his chest.

Hershel felt the man’s cock over his entrance but noticed the man in front of him was laughing. He realized he was being peed on, and yet he remained silent. He was being held and grasped for the first time in so,  _ so  _ long. He could tolerate this.

He moaned as he felt the man’s cock pushing in hard, and he let himself lean back. One of the hands on his shoulders went to his head, and he was bent over, and he found another cock in his mouth.

He was so, so special. He was so disgusting. He’d spotted a metal pole on the ground within reach. Hershel had gotten out of positions like this before, but of course he hadn’t been being raped. 

Hershel just let his eyes lull shut as he nursed the tip of the man’s cock, trying to run his tongue over the tip. He’d asked for this, after all. He’d begged, even. The touch on his shoulders, and his hips. He hadn’t felt anything so amazing in so long. But the cock from behind felt like it was splitting him  _ wide  _ open, perhaps it may rip him to shreds. 

One of his hands dangled down to touch his sad soft cock. He wasn’t turned on in the slightest, he realized. This was for  _ touch.  _ He wanted more. He wanted hands all over him, he wanted acknowledgement. This was more love than the bar would give him. He wanted to be dead. He wanted to be dead so bad. He was truly disgusting. A useless whore. He wanted it to stop. He wanted them out.

“You’re just taking this?” A gruff Cockney voice came from above, curling his thick sausage fingers into his hair. “I wouldn’t think a professor would  _ like  _ being used as a urinal.”

Hershel felt the warm piss on his stomach and chest, still dripping off. He wanted to vomit. He felt the man’s shaft pushed deeper into his throat, and the fingers in his hair stopped him from pulling away. He gagged and shuddered all around, causing the man behind him to also groan and shudder. His eyes went up to the man’s face, too dark to see who it was.

“Pathetic whore, your response to being  _ raped  _ was to ask for more?” He pulled his head off his cock, yanking his hair up. “What do you have to say?”

Hershel felt tears spring to his eyes. “Please, please,  _ please  _ don’t ever ever stop.” He begged. He didn’t have much more to live for, but he felt the cricket bat slamming down onto his back, drawing a shout of agony that was muffled by the man’s cock hitting the back of his throat again.

He felt the man behind him splitting him open was just about to finish, judging by his shakier and slower thrusts. The voice above him was beginning to pant and breathe deeper. 

With a final cry, the man behind him finished on his ass and thighs, cum running down his leg. The other man pulled his cock out and proceeded to finish on his face, forcing Hershel to squeeze his eyes shut.

His legs felt like jelly, and he collapsed to the ground. He shuddered and shook, until the cricket bat was slammed onto his head. Hershel screamed again and felt tears choking his throat, and it was slammed down again. And again. On his back, on his neck, on his thighs. The saddest thing was, he shuddered as an orgasm rocked his body from a blow to his shoulder. He found himself laying in a pathetic puddle of cum, trembling and shaking. He felt as if he’d cracked his skull.

Hershel couldn’t remember how long he’d been laying there. He shook and tried to push himself up, but his arms felt as if they could’ve been broken. Cold air blew over the cooling cum on his back and in the puddle, and he realized, if he didn’t move, he would die.

With a painful hiss, he tried to push himself up. His hat was laying on the ground, stomped on and crushed out of shape. With a shaking sharp pained arm, he reached to pick it up and place it on his head. He could dress himself up next.

He needed an ambulance. His eyes went to a payphone nearby, and he bit his lip to try and slowly stand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
